


love in sepia

by thunderylee



Category: Japanese Actor RPF, Kanjani8 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Photographer, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-25
Updated: 2009-01-25
Packaged: 2019-02-01 22:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12713925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: “I don’t believe in love,” he says, and she watches him walk away.





	love in sepia

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

The weight on her neck is trying, but she never knows when she’s going to get an opportunity to shoot someone. With her camera, that is, although she could think of a few people… “Bad karma, Megumi,” she whispers to herself as she scours the park looking for unsuspecting subjects.

It’s a good thing the strap is secured, otherwise she might have dropped her camera at the sight of him. Tall, fit, dark hair, a good number of freckles dusting his face. She wonders if they continue down past the collar of his dark T-shirt, maybe around to the back of his neck where she can’t see. His hair is long but tied up in a ponytail, carelessly like it was just done to keep it out of his lunch, which is all over his face as he eats like nobody is watching.

And he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. She doesn’t know him, which is odd because she knows everyone in this area; she’s been taking pictures for years. Freelance, selling to whatever magazine will purchase them, keeping the ones she took in secret. She’s thinking this one will fall into the second category.

“Megumi-chan,” the man behind her says gently, and she doesn’t even have to turn to know that it’s Yamamoto from the general store she’s standing in front of. “Are you all right? You look like you’re in another world!”

She shakes it off, thoughts of that perfect face appearing on photo paper in her darkroom-slash-bathroom. That’s her favorite part of her job, watching the miracle of her art form right before her eyes. “I think I found my next model,” she shares, telling herself as well as the old man. “Do you know that man?”

It’s weird calling him a man; even at twenty-four years old, Megumi still feels like a teenager. ‘Men’ to her are grown-ups who wear suits and have full-time jobs, not someone with such a smooth face and casual clothing. She herself is donned in a light sleeveless top and denim cut-offs, a mixture of feminine and tomboy that has become natural for her over the years.

“Oh, that guy?” Yamamoto repeats fondly. “He’s the nephew of the owners of that curry shop over there. Their name is Takahashi, but I think he’s the wife’s nephew so his name would be different.”

“I see,” Megumi says politely. “Do you know how old he is? If he’s just visiting?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions for a curious party,” Yamamoto says knowingly, and Megumi has the decency to hide her blush. “Twenty-three years old, university graduate, lived in Osaka with his parents until just recently. That’s all I know.”

“Thank you very much,” Megumi tells him gratefully, her eyes widening a little at the words ‘college graduate’. It boggles her mind that someone with that kind of background is sitting by himself in the park, slurping like he has nothing better to do with his free time.

She doesn’t bother trying to hide the fact that she’s taking his picture; he fits perfectly in the frame, pausing just long enough for her to snap a still. There’s a bit of a blur from the distance of her zoom, but it will have to do until she can get a (consensual) closer shot.

Yamamoto’s tsk-tsking behind her. “Still lost in your pictures, are you? I remember when you were eight years old and your father had to chase you up and down the streets because you saw something ‘beautiful’ you wanted to capture forever.”

Megumi could always count on this old man to put her thoughts into words for her. She’s crap at words, always has been, preferring to express herself through her pictures. A picture says a thousand words anyway, or at least that’s what the wise people say. There are photobooks upon photobooks lining the shelves of her bookshelf, which she flips through every now and then instead of opening an actual book.

“Maybe you should go talk to him,” Yamamoto hints. “Be _in_ the picture for once.”

She turns to look at him, finally, the compassion on his face keeping her from getting angry at the implication. A frown still tugs at her mouth, though; unlike the people from this old man’s generation, Megumi sees no reason to rush and get married just to start a family and spend the rest of her life with someone she really doesn’t like. Her last boyfriend thought her job was ‘pointless’ and thus didn’t last long enough to introduce to her parents.

She’s starting to see why all of these famous artists always said that they were so misunderstood. She likes paintings and sculptures as well, although she can’t draw or mold clay to save her life. Her dream boyfriend would be a painter, sculptor, maybe a manga artist or even a writer, someone who could respect her passion and have some of his own as well. She doesn’t think she could love anyone who didn’t have some kind of ambition like that.

Who wants to get up and go to work everyday anyway? She would never say it out loud, but she feels sorry for people like Yamamoto who have to keep this kind of schedule, who have no choice but to do this kind of work and constantly be nice to rude customers so that they can support themselves. Megumi works when she needs to, collecting release forms whenever she can so that at the beginning of the month she can send the photos to various magazines and see who bites. Very rarely will she actually get an assignment, but life is boring without a little excitement and Megumi can’t think of anything more exciting than a challenge.

Staring at this man, watching him eat obliviously, she sees a challenge. She wants to know his story, what he’s about. What did he go to university for? Why isn’t he working? Why is he alone? What is he thinking about? Most importantly, _what is he eating_? It looks delicious. Some kind of curry, maybe.

She jumps when a hand clasps onto her shoulder, immediately shaking off the instinct to flip Yamamoto over and tie his hands behind his back. Her father insisted on a self-defense class a couple years ago and the lessons have never left her. Being alone so much, they’ve even come in handy. Such an insightful man, her father was. It’s a shame that he had to spend his entire life working instead of creating his works of written art.

“You should go talk to him,” Yamamoto prods, probably thinking that the forlorn expression on Megumi’s face is in reference to her newest potential subject. “He’s new in town, so he might appreciate someone his age to talk to.”

She starts to protest, then realizes that the old man has a point. The only kinds of people around here are young kids and older adults. She supposes she was born at a time when nobody else was starting families. Growing up, her school friends were always in the next town and it was impossible to just meet for a quick lunch or shopping trip. It got her a lot of baby-sitting jobs as a teenager, but didn’t help much to curb her loneliness.

“Thank you, Yamamoto-san, I think I will,” Megumi says to her father’s longtime friend, lowering her head long enough to mean it and lifting it back up with a smile. “Maybe I can finally take pictures for Romantica Magazine.”

Yamamoto gives her a puzzled look, but Megumi didn’t really expect him to understand what she meant. As she carefully jogs across the street to the park, she thinks of the one magazine in the country that she hasn’t been able to work for, the one that centers around love and sex and how women can find a man and be happy. Every time she tries to submit there, they laugh at her and tell her that she doesn’t know what love is.

Which is true, she doesn’t. She knows what’s in shoujo manga and on the dramas on TV, but this magazine prides itself on its realness. Women all over the country rely on it like a bible, tearing out advice columns and taking relationship quizzes as seriously as if they were real exams. The models in the pictures are realistic and beautiful, and they always have this aura about them that makes Megumi’s heart warm and creates thoughts of snuggling under the kotatsu at Christmastime, watching the lights blink and the snow fall.

Of course, she has yet to recreate this feeling herself, probably because she hasn’t yet experienced it. She’s had boyfriends and gone on dates and kissed, but that’s usually where it stops. The appeal wears off and she sees them for who they really are – controlling men whose only concern is acquiring a wife to cook and clean and bear their children. They couldn’t understand her job, nor she theirs, and it always ended in an argument with someone – usually Megumi – throwing things.

She reaches the edge of the park and stops suddenly, double-checking her rash decision. Does she really want to do this? She can’t just ignore the butterflies in her stomach at the mere sight of him, the way he sits straight and eats like it’s the most important thing to him. The way he’s staring off into space like he’s lost in a daydream.

She may be cynical because of her past experiences, but she’s still hopeful. And definitely not the kind of girl – _woman_ – who lets an opportunity for this kind of happiness pass her by. At full speed she takes off, sprinting the remaining distance until she’s at the edge of his blanket, clutching her knees and struggling to catch her breath while he is entirely unaware of her presence.

“Um…” she starts, still gasping for air. “I heard you were new in town.”

He doesn’t look at her, just swallows his mouthful and wipes his face with his sleeve. “If you’re a reporter, you’re a little late,” he says into the napkin. “The story’s been done.”

He’s just as beautiful up close, a few skin flaws seeming to add to it rather than take away. Then she notices the narrow cut of his eyes and finally processes his words. “The story?” she repeats. “I’m not a reporter, I’m just a photographer. What story?”

He scoffs like he doesn’t believe her, his eyes staring deep into his bowl – curry, Megumi recognizes – like it’s calming. “I was told to come here to get away from it,” he says quietly, his voice deep and emotionless at the same time. “I can’t even have lunch without my peace being disturbed.”

The nurturing part of Megumi wants to reach out to him while the logical part tells her to get far away. The conflict leaves her standing still, tilting her head in concern as her heart inevitably wins. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to take your picture.”

“Why?” he asks simply. “Are you doing a piece on loneliness? Depression? Plan on using my face to sell happy pills?”

She blinks. “Actually I’m trying to capture your inner beauty,” she tells him. “But it seems to be fading with each word that comes out of your mouth.”

“I apologize,” he says dryly, packing up his dishes and hastily folding the blanket. “I wasn’t aware that I existed to please you.”

He starts to leave and Megumi takes a deep breath. “Wait.”

Facing away from her, he halts and doesn’t turn around.

“Can we try again?” she asks, forcing herself to be calm. “My name is Satou Megumi and I’m a photographer. I’d like to take your picture to possibly be used in a magazine.”

He sighs and doesn’t move. “My name is Ohkura Tadayoshi and I’m a graduate of Osaka University with honors in Human Sciences, currently unemployed. What kind of magazines will my face be featured in?”

“I’m not sure,” she tells him honestly. “I was thinking you’d be suited for love columns.”

“Love?” he repeats thoughtfully. “Like those articles that tell women how to manipulate men into falling in love with them, then brainwash them to suit their needs?”

“Yes,” Megumi says flatly. “I don’t understand them either.”

A scoff, then he turns his body just enough to look at her. His face is lax, but his eyes are strong; Megumi wants nothing more than to take a picture at this moment. There’s so much _feeling_ emanating from him right now. “That would be a lie, wouldn’t it? To put my face on that kind of article.”

She shakes her head to hear his words, then looks at him in confusion. “Hmm?”

“I don’t believe in love,” he says, and she watches him walk away.

+

It’s that time of the month, not the time that women usually fear but the time when Megumi needs to make ends meet. She can’t be _completely_ irresponsible about her life, after all; her father raised her better than that. If she wants to live on her own and have nice things, she needs to work for it.

She has the addresses practically memorized, her feet pedaling to each destination without stopping to think about it. She’s done this for so long that the receptionists know her by name, sometimes even look forward to her visits. There’s a home and garden magazine that would love to have her on their payroll, but Megumi couldn’t imagine taking pictures of furniture and _flowers_ for the rest of her life. Flowers don’t have much of a personality.

The rent needs to be paid, though, so Megumi makes it a point to take the boring pictures as well as the fun ones. She doesn’t need the flowers’ consent, after all, and housewives all over Japan would never oppose to their gardens being featured in a magazine. Megumi doesn’t understand them either, but then again she doesn’t have a great relationship with her mother.

It’s the main reason she doesn’t live at home, being molded into a woman whom she’s definitely not. Even while her father was alive, her mother did nothing but care for them all, Megumi as well as her older sisters, who have since gone on to find husbands and given Megumi a good number of nieces and nephews to spoil. Just like their mother wanted.

Megumi is the youngest of three girls, always the bad seed and the one to question every direction her mother tried to give them. Eventually the elder gave up, focusing more on the two oldest while the youngest ran wild and got into trouble. Curious and honest, Megumi’s dream was to see the world through the eyes of her camera lens, to meet different kinds of people rather than search for just one person.

This Ohkura guy was certainly different, she muses as she comes upon his picture. It developed beautifully despite being taken at such a distance, and she could already see it alongside a column about letting boys be boys or something along those lines. If such an article exists, anyway.

He left before she could get him to sign the release form, and ordinarily she would have chased after him and asked nicely, but she didn’t this time. He had an air about him that clearly stated that he was done with her. For now.

Today’s a new day, she thinks to herself as she adds a new stop onto her route and puts on her sales face.

Besides, his curry really had looked delicious.

+

She almost expects to see him helping out in the restaurant, but his face is nowhere to be found amongst the sea of people. It’s lunch time and the place is crowded; Megumi barely manages to snag a table and relieve herself of her burdens before it’s standing room only.

Half of her portfolios remain, the very last one containing the one picture that will be submitted to Romantica Magazine. They can laugh in her face all they want but this time she thinks it will be different, that they’ll see in Ohkura’s face what she sees in their usual photos and make her a nice offer.

She just needs to get his consent first. It’s half of the reason why she’s here, the other half being the steaming bowl of curry that wafts past her nose as it’s delivered to her table. The waitress bows and starts to walk away, but Megumi makes an uncertain noise that stops her.

“Um,” she starts. “Is someone named Ohkura Tadayoshi here?”

The waitress jolts in surprise, which is an odd reaction in regards to someone who’s just visiting family. “How do you know him?”

“I met him in the park the other day,” Megumi says truthfully. “We were discussing business and he had to leave before I could get his phone number.”

“Business, huh?” The waitress eyes the camera that never leaves Megumi’s neck. “Are you from the press?”

“No ma’am,” Megumi says. “I just take pictures of things I find interesting. At the moment I find Ohkura-san very interesting.”

The waitress’ expression softens as a smile forms on her face. “I’ll see if he’s up to having company.”

“Wait.” Megumi gently grabs the other’s arm, offering pleading eyes. “Tell him there’s something in it for him. A percentage of whatever I’m offered. I don’t think he’ll agree to see me any other way.”

The young lady nods, and Megumi almost smacks herself as she disappears into the back. Since when does she offer compensation? People usually don’t mind seeing their own faces in magazines. Megumi buys an issue for them and that’s that. It’s not like professional modeling where they have to dress up and pose; the kind of pictures Megumi takes are natural and unaltered, human beings in their normal habitats, acting and reacting as they are. It’s about capturing moments and emotions that can’t be defined in words – her current claim to fame is a photo of a little girl who is laughing so hard that milk is coming out of her nose. Megumi thought it was hilarious; a parenting magazine paid good money for it.

Most of the time it’s hit or miss in this business, but Megumi just considers herself lucky. It’s often that she _happened_ to take a picture of something that a magazine _happened_ to be running an article for, and sometimes the editor would even actually get an idea for a column _from_ her picture. If she were more confident, she might think that it’s because of her talent for beautiful things and good timing, but up until now she hasn’t really thought about that. Her feelings about her hobby-slash-profession have mostly centered around the rejection from Romantica and the criticism she received there, along with a strong desire to prove them wrong someday.

The pictures of her oldest sister’s wedding still hang in all of the families’ houses, including Megumi’s small studio apartment. Everyone had fawned over them and claimed that Megumi had such a knack for capturing the newlywed couple’s feelings, which had given her the courage to approach Romantica in the first place. To have them laugh in her face kept her from going back, and when her middle sister got married she would have nothing to do with it. That upset their mother greatly and she was always one to hold a grudge.

Sometimes Megumi thinks that her goal in life is to _not_ become her mother, and with every month that she writes a rent check and pays the utilities with her own money, she feels one step closer.

“What do you want,” a harsh voice says from beside the table.

Megumi swallows her bite and dabs at the corners of her mouth, immediately on edge with this guy’s tone. “I came here to see if you would sign a release form for me to sell your picture.”

“You already took one?” he asks accusingly. “Without my consent?”

“Don’t look so scandalized, it happens all the time,” she says calmly, pushing the portfolio on the bottom out from under the others. “Have a look for yourself if you’d like.”

He eyes the folder like he’s considering it, then Megumi returns to her lunch and pays him no further attention. She’s not going to beg, and it doesn’t matter if he takes off with the photo because it’s technically his property anyway. Especially if she’s going to offer him payment for it, there’s no reason for her to waste a sales pitch on him. Either he’ll consent or he won’t.

That doesn’t stop her from sneaking a peek out of the corner of her eye, though. Even his concentrating expression is moving, making even more questions form in his mind and piquing her childish curiosity that she wouldn’t have thought to hold back before. She wants to know his story, what happened to make him come here, why he’s so bitter. Most of all why he agreed to speak with her.

“Sit down, would you?” is all she says. “You’re making me edgy towering over me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically as he takes the seat across from her. “They tell me I have that affect on women because I’m tall.”

She snorts, covering up the rude noise with a forced slurp. “I’m not scared of you, if that’s what you think,” she says quietly. “I’ve fended off larger men than you.”

“That’s comforting.” He sounds distracted, and she looks up to see him examining the picture.

Bracing herself for the harsh words, she’s surprised when he doesn’t speak. “Ohkura-san?” she prods. “Is there something wrong with the picture?”

“I’m eating,” he says incredulously. “You took a picture of me eating.”

“You seemed into it,” Megumi replies with a shrug. “I don’t argue with my instincts.”

Ohkura blinks, scrutinizing the photo of his own face before lifting his eyes to meet hers. “Are you an expert on human observation?” he asks. “Can you tell what I’m thinking as I’m chewing my noodles, _blissfully unaware_ that I’m being stalked?”

“Not at all,” Megumi answers, nonplussed at the accusation. “That’s your department, isn’t it, Ohkura-san?”

Her words must catch him off-guard because he actually smiles, looking satisfied with her answer. “You remembered.”

“You tell me then,” she says firmly, both hands planted on the table. “What does this picture represent?”

“I’m not the right person to ask,” he answers without hesitation. “I know what I was thinking at that time.”

“Maybe that’s my question,” Megumi presses.

His eyelashes flutter as he looks down at the picture again, then jerks his head up to stare right into her eyes. “Whatever you see in this picture is much better than the truth, I’m sure. Where is the release form? I’ll sign it.”

In a daze she gestures to another section of the portfolio, not sure what to think about what’s happening here. On one hand she has her picture and her chance at a Romantica inset, but on the other she seems to have disturbed this man she doesn’t even know, who is already disturbed for some reason.

“How much do you want?” she asks softly, noticing his pen hovering over the signature line.

Shaking his head, he seems to snap out of it and quickly scribbles his name before pulling out a stamp and sealing the deal. “No payment,” he mumbles. “Thank you for choosing me. I hope you manage to sell it.”

“I-” Megumi starts, too shocked to form her words. “If it does, I’ll definitely purchase an issue for you.”

“That’s not necessary,” he tells her, pressing his lips into a thin line that can barely be constituted as a polite smile. “I see my face every day, I don’t need to see it on glossy paper too.”

He starts to get up and leave again, but this time Megumi doesn’t let him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she challenges, raising her voice just enough to compete with the loud chatter of the other patrons. “Are you too vain to accept when someone else finds you attractive?”

A smirk plays at his mouth as he turns back to look at her. “Are you saying that you think I’m attractive?”

“That is… I mean…” Megumi trips over her words, becoming frustrated at the smug look on Ohkura’s face. “Make up your mind – either you’re insecure or you’re not. This mysterious shit only works in fiction.”

“Then I’m not,” he responds. “You’re really bad at reading people, Satou-san.”

“That’s not my job,” she says quickly. “I just see what’s on the surface.”

“Typical woman,” Ohkura scoffs. “Thank you for the compliment as well, although I don’t think I could live up to your expectations.”

“Excuse me?” Megumi sucks in her air. “I didn’t say anything about-”

“For four years I studied human behavior and social interaction,” he explains, folding his arms like he’s giving a lecture. “I understand people better than they understand themselves. But they don’t like that, being told how they feel. Being human is about figuring things out for yourself, coming to your own conclusions. That’s not possible with me around.”

“What do you see?” Megumi asks carefully, fighting to keep her game face on. “When you look at me, Ohkura-san, what do you see?”

Ohkura looks down at her. “Do you really want to know?”

She nods firmly.

“I see a little girl in a glass box,” he says slowly, his tone even. “She lives vicariously through everyone else, through the pictures she takes, finding happiness through them instead of finding it for herself. She doesn’t feel alone because she has all of these stories in her head, none of them about her, all of them speculation.”

Megumi had been preparing for the worst, but his words don’t irritate her at all. “And what’s going to happen to that girl?”

“I’m not a psychic,” Ohkura tells her. “And anyway, people are only as they are until something happens to change them. You could wake up tomorrow and decide to look through your own eyes for once.”

“I have a feeling that you’re trying to insult me,” she admits, “but I don’t feel insulted.”

“Then clearly I’ve done well,” he says, flashing another smile. “Too bad there’s no need for a therapist in this area. I would be rich.”

“You just said that people don’t like being told how they feel,” Megumi recalls. “What makes you think that anyone would willingly come to you for help?”

“I wasn’t referring to clients.” He pauses and swallows hard. “It’s the ones who don’t admit to having a problem who really do. Are you not insulted because it’s true or because you don’t care what I think?”

“A little of both,” she answers honestly. “I’ve never denied that my pictures are a way to escape from reality, and while I don’t agree that it could change overnight, I will agree to the possibility. I’m only twenty-four, after all.”

“And me?” Ohkura prods.

“I don’t know you at all,” she says thoughtfully. “But I kind of want to now.”

His face softens, an expression of amusement crossing it before he nods. “Feel free to stalk me anytime,” he says. “Whoever you think I am, it seems to make you happy.”

Megumi would like to think that she _allowed_ him to walk away this time, but in all honestly she doesn’t notice until he’s already disappeared.

+

“Satou-san,” the stuffy-looking woman at Romantica addresses Megumi. “I see that you haven’t changed in your work ethic.”

Megumi fakes a smile in her tank top and overalls. “With all due respect, Tanaka-san, I’m not trying to be _in_ your magazine.”

It’s silent while Tanaka studies the picture, the atmosphere thick with tension. Megumi doesn’t know why she wants to please these people so much; clearly they don’t know the first thing about a relaxed workplace.

“I’ll buy it.”

“Thank you for consid-” Megumi starts, then cuts herself off as she stops mid-bow and stands straight up. “Eh?”

“He’s defined, yet immature,” Tanaka states, tracing the outline of Ohkura’s face without touching the photo. “Average-looking but attractive. Looks like he has a secret. Not exactly love, Satou-san, but what I’m looking for nonetheless. I’ll pay you a commission if you can get enough for a spread.”

“C-commission?” Megumi repeats with wide-eyes.

“Yes, a percentage of the monthly sales for the issue,” Tanaka explains without looking away from the picture.

“I know what a commission is,” Megumi retorts. “Why would you give me one? What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Tanaka says, smiling as she stares at Ohkura’s face. “I would like for you to bring him in so we could have him pose with one of our female models, but somehow I don’t think that would go over well with you.”

“I don’t do forced shots,” she says clearly. “And I don’t think he has a girlfriend I could work with.”

“For shame.” Tanaka grabs a manila folder from a box and labels it SATOU. “The article is about tolerating the quirks and bad habits of your man. It would be good if there were before and after shots for comparison, but I’ll leave it to you.”

“O-okay,” Megumi replies, bending completely into a bow. “Thank you very much!”

“Don’t make me regret this decision,” Tanaka says clearly as she waves her hand in dismissal.

+

“And she said I’d get paid a _commission_!” Megumi squeals excitedly, having no reason to hide her elation at the news. “Isn’t that great, Daddy?”

Satou Kenichi’s headstone remains still, the fresh flowers bristling in the breeze. Megumi likes to think that he’s the wind, responding to her words in ways that she can’t understand except that they exist.

“I’m so happy,” she says quietly, kneeling to pray properly. “I’m finally coming into my own intuition, just like you said.”

She doesn’t want to assume, but she thinks that he’s proud of her. He always lectured about being yourself and following your heart, and up until recently Megumi wasn’t sure which way her heart was going. She takes pictures but doesn’t understand them, can’t explain them, other than that they make her _feel_ and people like to look at them. She sees something in them that wouldn’t be seen at a real-life pace, that one slide of the movie of life that blends in with the rest until it’s captured as a still to stand on its own.

And whoever he is, this Ohkura guy has a lot to do with it. Her father used to talk about his muse, the nonexistent entity that inspired him to write and create thousands of interesting stories from his imagination alone. This entity wasn’t a real person, but Megumi has heard that they sometimes can be. Muses are supposed to be motivating, challenging, forceful. There were nights her father would be up late just writing, his pen scratching on the paper from line to line, transferring his thoughts onto paper that was only seen by Megumi, because she was the only one who cared to read them.

All through her childhood she read her father’s stories instead of the traditional children’s books; fantasy stories about dragons and great adventures, graduating into young adult fiction centering around friends and crushes. Her father certainly knew what love was, and more than once she considered trying to get him published posthumanously, but instead the manuscripts sit in a box in her closet collecting dust and being there when she wants to experience those stories again.

Secretly she doesn’t want to share those stories with anyone else. Just like the pictures she keeps close to her heart, never to be sold to anyone, those pages in her father’s crisp handwriting are for her eyes only.

She doesn’t visit his grave religiously, just when she feels the need to talk. Megumi doesn’t have many friends and the ones she does have don’t want to hear about things that aren’t real. Takiko and Nao-chan are acquaintances from high school, the only ones left who haven’t married and moved on. Megumi figures it’s only a matter of time before the two of them put love over their careers and leave her behind. She can’t say she’ll be sorely disappointed when that happens.

At the risk of sounding like a cliché, Megumi usually feels misunderstood. When her father died, her friends suggested that she move away from this town since she no longer had any ties here. Did they not stop to think that she would want to be able to visit his grave whenever she wanted? Her father had grown up here; his parents – Megumi’s grandparents – had lived across the street from her childhood home, the home her mother still inhabits. When Megumi moved out at eighteen, she chose an apartment as close to home as she could, with no intentions to move any further. And nobody is going to change her mind.

With one last longing glance at the headstone, Megumi stands up and dusts off her knees, turning to see Ohkura of all people standing at the end of the row.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I thought I would try this stalking thing, and apparently I’m not good at it.”

“Have you no respect?” Megumi lectures him. “You don’t creep up on people who are mourning the dead.”

“I waited until you were finished,” Ohkura protests. “It was a chance meeting anyway. I was walking by and heard you talking about my picture. Congratulations, by the way. I’m glad to hear it.”

“I was going to tell you,” Megumi hisses through her teeth. “After I was done visiting my _father_.”

“Father?” Ohkura repeats. “Well, shouldn’t you introduce me then?”

Megumi blinks oddly at him. “He’s dead, Ohkura-san.”

“Yet you still share your life with him,” Ohkura points out. “If I’m your muse, don’t you think he would want to meet me?”

“You heard that…” she trails off, unsure whether to punch him or fall in love with him.

“Again, passing by,” he reiterates. “I can hardly be blamed for my impeccable hearing.”

His face is smug but his eyes are soft, sympathetic enough to make her smile and lead him back towards the plot. “Father, this is Ohkura Tadayoshi-san, my… muse. Ohkura-san, this is my father Satou Kenichi.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Ohkura says with a bow. “Of course I’ll be good to your precious daughter.”

On impulse she smacks him, lightly on the arm. “You are so distasteful.”

“What?” he says defensively. “I’m being serious here. I’d return the favor and introduce you to my father, but the police haven’t found his body yet.”

Megumi turns to stare at him. “Are you lying?”

“Why would I lie to you?” Ohkura says quietly, looking down to meet her eyes. “Especially since you’re the only one who never asked why I came here.”

“I got the feeling you didn’t want to talk about it,” she tells him. “It’s not my business anyway.”

“You’re more considerate than the rest of them, then.” He meets her eyes than quickly looks away. “It’s nothing exciting, just some run-of-the-mill raiding. He wasn’t involved with bad people or anything. Just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“It doesn’t have to be exciting,” she replies gently. “My father died of a heart attack. There’s certainly nothing exciting about that.”

“Ah, but mine was a dreamer,” Ohkura says fondly, pausing to take a breath. “A lot like you, actually, only not nearly as feisty.”

Megumi can’t stop the smile from forming on her face, and a glance to the side shows Ohkura satisfied with her reaction.

“He got up every day and went to his boring salaryman job where he was one of a thousand people,” Ohkura begins. “He lived in his dreams of being somebody important. Having his name known. My mother loved that about him. She called it ambition; I called it stupidity. I loved my father as well, don’t get me wrong, but knowing what I know now, knowing what the human brain is capable of, I can’t respect anyone who just dreams about reaching their goals instead of doing something about it.”

“What are you saying?” Megumi snaps, instantly on the defensive. “My father was an amazing writer who inspired me to embrace my artistic side – are you going to speak ill of him too, at his grave?”

“Of course not,” Ohkura says firmly. “They are not the same at all, and I actually think your father would agree with me. It’s one thing to take some time every now and then to get lost in your pictures and other people’s lives, but it’s quite another to let it consume you. Do you see the distinction?”

“Not at all,” she rages. “What I see is a complete stranger making assumptions about me and my family _at my father’s grave_. Please leave.”

“But I’m not a stranger,” he says calmly. “I’m your muse.”

He catches her arm just as she’s about to slap him, pulling her close until she can see the faint moles on his throat. “If you took _half_ of this passion and channeled into finding your own happiness, I wouldn’t be surprised if your pictures actually started to include you.”

Megumi’s chest heaves with her forced breath, and she struggles to escape from Ohkura’s tight grip. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at. I’m perfectly happy all by myself.”

“Are you?” he contests. “Are you really?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she hisses. “Now let me go before I scream.”

He releases her immediately, taking a step back and being careful not to walk on anyone’s grave. “So you need more pictures, huh? What are they worth to you?”

“Not this,” she tells him as she turns to storm away.

He doesn’t stop her.

+

She doesn’t sleep well for the rest of the week, too frustrated and spiteful to relax. Who does this guy think he is, anyway? It’s one thing to give her some insight on herself – she knows she’s delusional to an extent, but she’s still responsible and independent despite it – but it’s quite another to speak for her deceased father.

What’s the most frustrating is that he’s probably right. Satou Kenichi never spoke the words, but Megumi knows that he worried about her just as much as her mother and older sisters did; he just dealt with it in a more preferable manner. Just like Ohkura had said before, people like to learn their own lessons for themselves instead of having it forced upon them. Then he went and forced it upon her anyway.

Megumi looks around her apartment as she settles down with a microwave dinner. She doesn’t think her life is dull at all – there’s brightly-colored decorations and furnishings, pictures _everywhere_ , much more homely than the pristine house that her mother keeps where everything is some shade of earth tones and each piece matches the others. Megumi definitely has a personality and it’s a damned good one, even if she does think so herself.

There’s a knock on her door and she starts, not expecting anyone. Her neighbors like to drop by sometimes, usually to show her a picture or tell her about something that’s happening that they think she would like to photograph. Her building is made up of mostly elderly people and sometimes Megumi enjoys just listening to them talk, hearing them tell their own stories that may have been truth or fiction, she never asked.

It’s not any of them, though, and she frowns at the one who dares to darken her doorstep after that amazing spectacle the other day. But before she can slam the door in his face, a bouquet of multi-colored tulips swings between them.

“I believe they call this the ‘I’m an asshole’ arrangement,” Ohkura greets her, very obviously biting his cheeks to hide his amusement.

“I don’t like flowers,” she tells him truthfully.

“Ah, I see I guessed right on the colors,” he goes on, completely ignoring her in favor of looking past her into the apartment. “I thought I could match at least something, and it turns out I matched _everything_.”

“Your stalking is getting better,” she says in snide. “Soon I’ll have to start hiding my dirty laundry.”

His eyebrow rises as he nods to himself. “Touché.”

“What do you want,” she finally demands, standing with her arms expectantly.

“I was out of line at the cemetery the other day,” he says stiffly, shaking the bouquet in her face until she takes it and he can use both hands to bow properly. “For that, I’m sorry.”

Rolling her eyes, Megumi pulls at his hair. “Get up. It doesn’t matter if you’re sorry or not as long as you still believe the words you said.”

“Would it help if I explained it better?” he offers, a genuine look on his face. “More fact and less sarcasm?”

She eyes him suspiciously but lets him in, leaving him to remove his shoes while she finds a very tall glass to put the flowers in. “I suppose I should be honored to get a free psychiatric evaluation from such a renowned specialist.”

His hand on her shoulder almost makes her drop the glass. “Less sarcasm goes for _both_ of us, Satou-san.”

She sighs, placing the glass of flowers on her counter and tracing the soft petals with her fingers. “Go ahead.”

Clearing his throat, Ohkura paces her living area and looks at all of the pictures, seeming to be in no rush to start talking. He pauses on the picture of Megumi’s oldest sister on her wedding day. “So you _can_ capture this kind of emotion.”

“Romantica didn’t like those pictures,” Megumi says quickly. “Even though they were running a wedding piece, they didn’t want to use those.”

“I can see why,” Ohkura responds, and Megumi almost falls over from the shock. “The bride has on a smile a mile wide and her husband just looks relieved.”

“It was a complicated wedding,” Megumi explains. “There were a lot of preparations and arrangements and of course things went wrong… they were just happy it was over.”

“That’s it, Satou-san, don’t you see?” Ohkura shoves the framed picture in her face. “This isn’t the kind of love that magazines like Romantica try to convince everyone of its existence. This is _real_ love, the kind with conflicts and compromises. The kind where at the end of an exhausting day like these two had, all they want to do is relax in the comfort of each other and prepare for the next day.” He makes a thoughtful face. “Maybe a little sex, _then_ relaxing. It is their wedding night, after all.”

Megumi laughs despite herself as she starts to follow what he’s saying. Finally. “So, essentially, you think that because I take pictures all the time and never really go out and meet people myself, that I’ll be unhappy forever.”

“No,” Ohkura gently corrects her. “I believe you when you say that you’re happy as you are now. I just think that you could take even better pictures if you experienced those kinds of things – those emotions – for yourself.”

Megumi inhales through her nose. “Are you trying to motivate me?”

“Is it working?” Ohkura asks in return, then spins around the room with his arms extended. “These pictures, all of them, they each have a story, don’t they? Do you understand them? If you don’t understand them, how can you sell them to anyone?”

Megumi’s eyes widen as she catches onto that meaning. “Do you mean to say that the reason Romantica didn’t buy my sister’s wedding pictures is because I didn’t introduce them properly?”

“Romantica is trash,” Ohkura replies. “But since they do pride themselves on using real people as models, I think this picture would have gone best in an article geared towards older couples dealing with their kids getting married.”

“Really?” Megumi replies skeptically. “But you said so yourself, that picture is about love -”

“I said it was about _real_ love,” Ohkura cuts her off. “Just because they use real people doesn’t mean they know anything about real love.”

“And you do?” Megumi contests. “If you’re so well-versed on the subject, how come you aren’t married?”

“I told you, people don’t like being told how they feel.” He stares at her, his expression unreadable. “Some women don’t like being understood _that_ well.”

“I can’t imagine…” Megumi thinks out loud. “As annoying as it is, isn’t it better not to have to explain yourself all the time? My sisters complain a lot that their husbands don’t hear what they’re saying, or that they hear it differently. It’s probably their own faults for not being clear, but with what you can do -”

“What I can do is sense the changes,” Ohkura says cryptically. “When the relationship is going well and suddenly something is different, it’s a sign. Her behavior backs it up. I might be able to tell if she was going to cheat on me before she even considers it. Maybe I didn’t even need a background in psychology to smell the cologne on her when she came home.”

Megumi presses her lips together. “This… happened.”

“Shizuka,” Ohkura spits the name. “She had such potential to become a decent adult, but instead she succumbed to the pressure of her friends and became a bitch who only cared about money and material things.”

“I’m sorry,” Megumi says genuinely.

“So am I.” Ohkura sighs and offers a half-hearted laugh. “I must sound like I’m still hung up on her, huh. In reality it’s been five years – she was a high school girlfriend. I went to university and she went… wherever whores go.”

“For what it’s worth, it sounds like she had her priorities out of order.” Megumi steps closer and places her hand comfortingly on Ohkura’s arm. “What you’re trying to say is that human behavior isn’t involuntary, right? That we have complete control over everything we do, and therefore there’s no excuse for not being happy because we can make that happen too.”

Ohkura looks down at his arm, then up at her eyes. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m trying to say.”

“So I can’t sit here and whine about Romantica not taking my sister’s wedding photos because I didn’t try to understand what the picture’s story _really_ was?”

“That’s right,” Ohkura tells her.

“And you,” she goes on. “Aren’t you so concerned with other people living up to their potentials because your father didn’t embrace all of his? Do you regret his mediocre life because he dreamed about being someone else? Let me tell you something, Ohkura-san. Your father didn’t have one regret about his life!”

“How can you say-”

“You presumed to know what my father would say, and now I’m doing the same to you.” Megumi stands straight, despite being a whole head shorter than Ohkura, and sets her jaw. “If your father is like me at all, he just used those dreams to get away for a little while. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was just like I’m not ashamed to be by myself. So what if I can’t read people like you can, I can see with my own eyes just like anyone would see when they open a magazine.”

“Is that right,” Ohkura jumped in. “Then what did you see when you took that picture of me eating in the park?”

“What you wanted me to see,” Megumi answers heatedly. “Someone who enjoys a good bowl of curry.”

“Satou-san -”

“The point isn’t what you’re not doing with your brain,” Megumi goes on, “it’s what you _are_ doing with it. People like your father and me, we dream not because we can’t do it for real, but because we don’t want to. I hear my sisters cry about their husbands and don’t want to be like that. Your ex-girlfriend chose that path because nobody stopped her, including you -”

“ _What_?”

“And your father didn’t become someone important because he wanted to have time to be a good husband and father!” Megumi practically screams. “Just like my father didn’t become a professional writer because that wouldn’t have been a stable job to support a wife and three kids. But he still did it in his spare time and enjoyed his life to the fullest. We can’t always do what we want, I know that more than anyone, but for a little while we can pretend.”

“But you _can_ do it,” Ohkura insists. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you -”

“And I’m trying to tell you that I’m okay without it!”

She doesn’t know how riled up she is until she stops speaking and has to concentrate to control her breathing, and a glance in his direction shows his chest heaving as well. If this keeps up, there might just be a fight in the middle of her apartment. Or something thrown.

“This,” she says calmly. “Whatever this is, Ohkura-san, it isn’t going to work.”

“Eh?” he replies breathlessly. “Is it okay if I sit down?”

Against her better judgment, she nods. Sitting down just means he’s not _leaving_. “The only difference between you and the rest of them is that you’re trying to push me to do more while they’re trying to get me to stop.”

“Isn’t that what a muse does?” he asks.

“I thought we weren’t being sarcastic here,” she says exasperatedly.

“I’m not being sarcastic,” he insists. “Were you being sarcastic when you said that to your father?”

“Enough with the muse,” she says, flopping down onto the couch as well. “What is this, Ohkura-san? What are we? I just wanted to take your picture.”

“So take it,” Ohkura tells her. “If that’s what makes you happy, take as many pictures as you want. It’s an article about quirks, right? Come over to my place, you can take pictures of my clothes all over the floor and how I leave the toilet seat up and drink the juice straight out of the bottle. Would that suffice?”

“Why do you care so much about my happiness?” Megumi asks. “Aren’t you just a hypocrite anyway? Going on and on about love when you told me you didn’t believe in it.”

“And then I met you.”

Her face falls and she turns to see him staring at her, his head leaning against the back of the couch in complete exhaustion. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” he rasps. “You win.”

“But…” Megumi doesn’t recall this being her intention, particularly since all she’s done this entire time is reiterate that she doesn’t _need_ that.

“I know,” Ohkura goes on. “It was a low trick, even for me, but I thought if I could talk you into trying it by playing on your weaknesses, I could get you to return my feelings.” He snorts. “But you really do feel that way.”

“Trick?” she repeats. “You tricked me? So all of that, with your father and Shizuka-san -”

“All of that is true,” Ohkura interrupts. “I didn’t lie to you. I really do feel that way about human behavior, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with _yours_.” He sighs. “The one thing they don’t teach you in school is that the brain is no match for the heart. People do stupid things for love, particularly in the beginning. We think with our hearts and not with our heads. I don’t like being that person, so out of control of myself, so it’s much easier to say that I don’t believe in it.”

“That makes sense,” Megumi says slowly. “I think.”

He turns his whole body to the side, curling up in front of her like he’s cold. “You’re not mad?”

“No,” she replies. “Because you’re not perfect, you don’t know everything, and it’s okay to be wrong.”

“Satou-san,” he says slowly. “There were many people at the park that day, why did you choose me?”

She could have answered with the truth, that he’s the only person even remotely close to her age that has graced this town in years, but if there’s one thing she’s learned in all of her vicarious living, it’s that men like feeling special. “I guess I finally wanted a picture for me.”

When his lips touch hers, _then_ she feels like she won.

> ~bonus~

“Ta-da!” Megumi announces, flipping the issue of Romantica open to one of the many advice articles. “Please allow me to introduce to you, Japan’s newest upcoming model, Ohkura Tadayoshi-kun!”

Ohkura’s aunt and uncle whoop and clap, along with the four children ranging in age from four to fourteen. “We have a superstar in the family!” old man Takahashi boasts as his nephew struts out into the living room.

Ohkura cuts the act when he sees the magazine and rushes to look at the pictures. “Wow, I look really annoying.”

“Yeah,” Megumi agrees. “But on the next page is where your good qualities shine.”

There are more cheers when she flips the page, showing off the pictures of Ohkura in a suit doing things like offering flowers and cooking dinner. According to the article, the way to deal with one’s quirks and bad habits is to compromise with gestures of equal value.

“For the record, this article is wrong,” she says seriously. “I’m never cleaning up after you.”

“You’re the dreamer and I’m the realist,” Ohkura replies. “Won’t I be the one cleaning up after you?”

Megumi smiles knowingly as they sit down to celebratory curry. It’s been six weeks of one thing after another – Romantica loved the spread so much that they gave her an actual assignment, and then there was the matter of burying Ohkura’s father when they finally managed to find him in Lake Biwa. His funeral isn’t exactly Megumi’s idea of a first date, but she supposes it’s appropriate since she fell in love with Ohkura in a cemetery.

Ohkura starts working fall semester at a local high school, and Megumi can’t think of anything more appropriate for someone who’s so concerned with other people living to their potential. Hopefully he will worry about his students and leave her be.

As for Megumi’s pictures, they continue to pay the rent and put food on the table (at least when Ohkura cooks for her), although her walls are no longer covered with people she doesn’t know. Aside from her family, including the misunderstood wedding picture, there is now one picture of her and Ohkura, taken by Takahashi’s oldest child in front of the curry shop. It’s just one picture, but that’s all she needs.

The rest she’ll have to experience herself.


End file.
